PS 3531 
.P8255 
R5 
1922 
Copy 1 



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l^mm 



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JrlTP, ilFifty (EpntB 

^ \ - ' » 

B^. H: PATTERSON 

PUBLISHER 
LOCKWOOD, : MO 



To my first friend who spent her life 

As a simple Farmers Wife, 
Whose Iovin;j; care and tender smilts, 

Have followed me o'er many miles: 
And tho' I've traveled far and tried 

In many places to abide, 
I've found, my friends, there is no ctht-r 

Friend just like my dear old 

MOTHER 



Copyright, 1933, by B. H. Patterson. 
All rights reserved. 



IM. First Edition 



HkrreH^CH RR£88, PR(N?E-?s. LCCKWCOO, MiSSOURI 



©CI.A677165 

JUHi6'22 



PUBLISH2B*S KOTE 

The matter in ''Part One" of this booklet 
appeared in the"Farm Club News. "of Spring- 
field, Mo., from lime to time during I9':il. 
The constant and ever increasing demand for 
recitations .suitable for use in Farm Club pro- 
grams induced the Publisher to issue them, 
along with other miscellaneous verse, ii» the 
form here presented. 

No attempt has been made to put the old 
poets out of business, or improve the Kns^lish 
language. The Author has exprt-^^ed his 
opinion to the best of his ability in pla n "Uni- 
ted Stales," and, being a farmer wri'ing :* 
farmers, has indulged in no h gh fl'g':ts ■■ f 
fancy. 

Tlie Publisher planned to get *hi« booklet 
out immdiately after the hig Farm Club Con- 
vention at Springfield, but the unexpected 
heavy demand for his ''Farm Club Songs," 
aiui his farm duties aud obligations have caus- 
ed unavoidable delay. 

The Publisher de>ircs to express his sincere 
thanks and appreciation o those wlio have 
contributed to this work, ai cl wliere it was 
i'.ece*;sary to edit the work of others, he has 
cndciivored to retain the thought expressed by 
the author. 

Thnt the matter herein may belr< mnke the 
Farm Club meetings more ii ter.^tii ir, and the 
weakkneed brother stronger in the Farm Cluh 
faith, is the wish of 
M;^rrh 23, lfl22. The Publisher. 



fart Wm 



bg ?8tIIa ^v^hhvL l^mm 

RHYMES. JINGLES and PROSE POEMS OH 
VARIOUS TOPICS OF the DAY. 



part ©mn 



FARM CLUB POETRY and VERSE from 
VARIOUS SOURCES 



Part Olijrf? 

MISCELLANEOUS POETRY and VERSE from 
VARIOUS SOURCES 



"One day at a time! 

It's a wholesome rhyme — 
A good one to live by; 

One day at a time!" 



Part (§m 

THE STORY GROWS 

Now, this is how a story grows, 
Just why I'm sure uobody knows: 

BjU Smith, while on his way to town, 
Chanced to meet his neighbor. Brown. 
"The creek is pretty high," said he; 
•'While on the hridge I chanced to see 
A new horse collar floating down; 
Well, so long, I must go to town." 

Now, Brown met Jones, whom you all know, 
And stopped to have a word or so: 
"Hello!" 

"Howdy!" 

"How are you?" 
'•We're well." 

"My wife has the flu." 
"Smith told me just awhile ago 
The creek was up near overflow, 
And he saw while there on the bridge 
That horse he sold to old man Midge, 
With collar on a-floating down. 
Well, I must go; good day," said Brown. 



'"Bimes'* of the Times 

Soon Jones met his old tieighbor, Hughes: 

"Well, i.owdy! Have yoa heard the news? 

The cicck ts near up to ilie bridge, 

And they teli tne that Oid Dave Midge, 

VViih his wa^on, harness, team, 

Were iteii fluatuig d(jwn tne stream, 

An*t his wif;.r and c, ild w-^re drowned, 

And tneir bodies never found; 

And that the water cvcrfl' wtn 

The t>Id man's field, and iioi a !(>'.'id 

Of corn will he be able to save; 

I sure feel sorry fur poor Old i3ave." 

I could go on page alter pa>::e, 
And show you how this pre^scnt age 
Can take a little grain of sand, 
And make of it a mountain ^rand; 
Or take a little p>oduce iie. 
And teli It ti! some crazy guv. 
And have tiie fariners up an : lown 
I hi country ilockini,^ int<* town 
To chew the rag md howl an<l roar 
About tt.e way the Far:iiers' Stoie 
Is being run by the new board. 

Now, boys; believe not every worvd 
You hear, and not all that you see; 
Let's all fill up with LOY al-ty! 

-^,-11-11 

Now, a tub full of grub for the Club 

Is a nice thing any day, 
But, take h<"cd, or your greed may stampede 

Our cause ere 'tis (M) its way. 



'^Rimes'' of the Times 

THE SLAOKSB 

I know a man so wondrous wise, 

His name I will not tell; 
He had two pennies o'er his eyes; — 

No; he's not going to ; well, 

At least, not yet,— be went to town 

And took some eggs a)on,?. 
Now, this IS where that guy fell down, 

And got himself in wrong; 
For he passed np the Farmers' Store, 

And went on down th'^ street, 
Where he could get a penr)y more 

From Old Man Skm'em Feet. 

He got two extra cents per doz, 

And blowed about it long; 
And told his neighbors that there was 

A lot of thinRS dead wrong 
About the way the Farmers' Store 

Is being run of late; 
He reads the poison squad's vile lore. 

And takes the poison bait. 
Kow, there is more about this guy 

That 1 would like to tell, 
But, what's the use?— this is no lie— 

You folks all know him well. 

Tril-li 



Now, boys, take time, have patience, 

We can't win in a day; 
Hard work and experience 

Will make the Exchange pay. 



'Rimes" of the Times 



FAKMEa JONES 

Farmer Jones had his car in the ditch, 

The thing refusecl to go; 
He pulled and pried and heaved and tried 

To get it out, you know. 
He asked his neighbors to hop in and help 

Hiai get it on the road; 
But they said they'd wait and see 

If the thing could haul a load. 

Jones got his car out on the n^d 

And filled her full of gas, 
And cranked her up^vvas ready to go — 

When his neighbors, bold as brass, 
Said, "Farmer Jones, we'll take a ride 

If it don't cost anything, 
We've always wanted to get in one, 

And take a little fling," 

Now, haven't you Farm Club boosters seen 

Some people just like that? 
Who are vi^illing to take a nice free ride, 

And furnish friendly chat, 
If the other fellow will furnish the car, 

The tires, the gas and the oil? 
They will hog a free ride, the credit and glory. 

And the fruits of the other man's toil. 



"Eimes'' of the Times 9 

6EEED 

The world is full of "ups ai d downs, " 

With accent on the "down;" 
So many things to give us gtief, 

And c«use us all to frown. 
But the cause of so much sorrow, 

Hunger, pain and woe, 
Is that insane love of gain 

We ste where e'er we go. 

How can the man with endless wealth, 

Who lives in mansions grand. 
Who has servants by the score, 

And coin to beat the band. 
Whose coffers ovcrflovvinc:. filled 

With golden coin galore. — 
How can a man hke that, 1 say, — 

Stand up and howl for morer 

'Tis not the money causes grief — 

Net in ourfamilv, — 
But 'tis the lack of little cash 

That makes it hard on me. 
I have a quarter-section farm, 

One half of it in grass 
Which would not sell for half enough 

To wmter one lone ass. 

Where are the good old qualities 

Of friendship, truth and love? 
The unselfish fellowship 

That comes down from above? 
The good oldfasliioned^neighbor. 

Whose word was good as gold, 



10 *'»imes'^ of the Kmes 

Who lent an earnest, willing hand 
To help when winds blew cold? 

Alas, those folks have lived their day, 

And rest beneath the sud; 
We're living in another age, 

I'he age of Money god. 
What care we for the old-time fads 

Of truth and loyally? 
We must ha>ten to get rich. 

And class with Royalty. 

Oh, children, men; let's not forget 

Ihe lessoiis moilier taughi! 
With trenzied greed and love of gain 

Let's not ourselves get caught. 
But, let us make the most of life. 

Enjoy it while we may; 
So that should the scythe-man come 

And call us to our future home, 
We can look him in the eye, 

With never a regretful eigh, 
And to that man of whiskers say: 

"I'm ready tor that fateful day." 

11-1-1 

GOTO! RICH MEN 

Go to, rich men; howl and weep; 
Your miseries shall not let you sleep. 
Your riches are corrupted, beaten; 
And your garments are moth-eaten. 
Your silver and your gold is cankered 
Like an old and worn-out tankard; 
And the rust of them shall be 



''Bimes'' of the Times 11 

A witness 'gainst you, as you'll see, 
And shall eat your flesh as fire, 
When the Lord pours out His ire. 

The farmers, who have reaped your fields, 

And labored to increase your yields, 

And whose efforts we applaud, — 

Their hire by you is kept by fraud; 

Its cry — I read it in His word — 

Has reached the ears of our dear Lord. 

You lived on the earth in pleasure, 
To you shall be paid full measure; 
And your wanton hearts you cherished 
As in days of slaughter. 

Perished 
Is the poor man's chance for gain; 
He has toiled and sirived in vain. 
You have judged and killed the just. 
Formed a big and ruthless trust, 
And much treasure have you heaped 
Together. When the Lord has reaped 
The last great harvest, what shall be 
Your fate through all eternity? 

James 5:1-8. 

Gentle re idcr; Read James Five, 
If you would know why we strive 
In vain to put some coin away, 
And save it for a rainy day 

The Lord has looked down through the ages, 

Put the record on the pages 

Of His Holy Book, that you 

May know just what we're coming to. 



12 *'Kimes'* of the Times 

THE CONVENTION 

Now, folks, this time 'tit my intention 
To write about our great Convention. 
But, say, novr, it is quite a task — 
Wiiich shall be firsir it I may ask; 
The big parade, some tivc miles lon^? 
Or the crazy guy, who sang ihe song? 
Or ihc ji)lly boys who were th* host 
Of that big crowd? 1 like to bwast 
About the way they tt«?ated us — 
I'm sure no one can raise a tuss; 
But, we'll remeiiil)cr many days. 
And tell with manv words of praise; 
How we were made to feel at home, 
Though many weary miles we'd come, 
By those loyal, feariess men 
Of that fighting Ozark clan. 

Say, boys, we're coming down the line! 
The farmer's light's begun to shine. 
We had the Governor ol our state 
With us to help celebrate, 
And the Nebraska Gov, McKelva, 
Had a lot of things to tell ye; 
And "F.irm Joiirnars" Doctor Spillman 
Came long miles to talk to hillnien 
And our good old triend, Bill Hiith, 
Whose iron nerve and sterling worth. 
Deep thought and staying qualities, 
Made thii order what it is. 

But did you hear the loud applause, 
When our good friend, U. M. Gausc, 



"Rimes*' of the Times 13 

Was elected president 
Without one voice of dissent? 

There's another thing to mention 
'Bout this greatest tarm Convention: 
'Tis the unswerving loyalty, 
Good fellowship ana unity, 
Of each anil every delegate 
From tlie Farm Ciubs of the state. 

And there's a lie I want to nail, 

ril do it now, Icsi 1 should fail: 

You know, 'lis said of the l^arm Club clan, 

That it is run by just one man! 

Now, how could anybody there, 

Who is inclined to bi fair. 

Tell any such a tale as that? 

' ris only done to cause a spat, 

To get us hghting in our Clul)?; 

They think we are a bunch of "dubs." 

This "one man" had the least to say 
'Bout how to run ihe M. F. A., 
And every delegate sent there 
Had equal voice, — 'tis only fair — 
And those who saw can testify 
That this is so, and 'tis no lie. 

Another thing that did me good, 
And put me in a happy mood, 
Was the loyal, loud applause 
Given the leader of our cause. 
When he stood up there to talk — 
He took the honors in a walk. 
The farmer may be called a fool 



14 "Rimes" of the Times 

Because he could't go to school 

When he was young, but this he knov/s, 

(And it adds to gamblers' woes) 

Who fights for the farmers' right: 

Why shouldn^t they cheer him with iheir 

might ? 
So let us ever loyal stand 
And organize this mighty land. 
We'll shew the gamblers, far and near, 
That the farmer does not fear 
To meet him in the market place, 
And talk right to him, face to face. 



THE WEDDING 

Now, Miss Auxiliary and M. F. Club 
Met at the convention at the Southwest hub; 
The m-aid v-%is shy and young and coy, 
Bi^bbling \vith mirth and youthful joy. 

M. F. Club, a "bach" sedate, 
A small bald spot upon his pate, 
(Caused by hard and serious thought 
O'er many battles won and fought) 
Soon fell in love with this fair maid. 
And many compliments he paid. 

Nov.', heretofore, this old "bach," Club, 
At making love had been a "dub;" 
But, when he saw this maiden fair, 
So beautiful and smilmg there, 
It was a case of love at sight — 
"I'll v/in her, boys, or have a fight." 

'Twas mutual, for she loved him, too, 



Rimes" of the Times 15 

This handsome warrior, brave and true; 
Decided that they could not wait, 
Lest carping neighbors harp and prate. 
And just to give a big surprise 
To many thousand country guys. 
They married in Convention Hall. 
The people shouted, one and all. 
For little did these folks expect 
That this old "bach" would e'er elect 
To take unto himself a Avife 
To journey with him through this life; 
Embark upon the golden sea 
Of connubial felicity. 

The ceremony was quite nice, 
Except that no one had the rice 
With which to send them en their way 
Rejoicing. 

I forgot to say, 
That bachelor forgot to kiss 
This Emiling, vnnsome, happy miss 
Until the people's loudsome roar 
Recalled them to the platform floor. 

Sr^.y, boy, that was a wedding grand; 
We'll organize this mighty land! 



\H 



Nov/% organization and cooperation 

All ever this nation's a mighty big ration 

For farmers to make; 
And this we all need, if we would succeed, 
And get up some speed: Eliminate greed, 

No market bribes tiike. 



le ^^Bimes*' cf the Times 

POISOH BAIT 

••There's many a slip, 'twixt cup anul lip," 

Is a saying true and old, 
But I would fain tell it again 

In moderh "rimes." I'm told: 

Once on a time, 0!d Jimmy Grime, 

A weak-kneed Farm Club member, 
Who woud not read and did not heed 

Ihe good advii e, remrmber, 
There to be found the whole year 'round, 

In our good Farm Club papers; 
And when some j^uy toid hun a lie, 

(Or pulled some other capers, 
Folks to deceive, and m^ke btlieve. 

Our Fxv hange was a robber,) 
lie promptly fell, 'us sad to lell, 

Began to spew and slobber; 
Went up and down the country 'roun', 
- And to'd to all who Hst'ed 
They'd so(»n "get rich with eggs and sich," 

The produce men hdd h'isted 
Up the low price till it was nice 

To sell to priviite dealers. 
For, to his wee, he did not kn(nv 

l hat produce men were stealers. 

He told it well, and manv fell. 

And quit their own good Exchange 

To 'cumulate the "poison bait;" 

They howled about the price range. 

The difference paid in thif^ great raid 
Was some nine cents per dozen; 

You shouJd have heard how soon the word 



''Sfmes" of Xh% Times 17 

O'er the whole place was buzzin'l 
But, OBCftad day along \m May, 

The private dealer's doors 
Were found shut tast; Jt conld not latt; 

The loyal Farm Club stores 
Had whipped bim out. 

There was a shout, 

Much howlini? loud and wailing, 
When checks galore, giv'n by his itore, 

Back from the bank came sailing, 
All marked: "No ca«h; he went to smaih; 

His bank account is busied." 
Ten thousand bucks tho-c slacker ducki 

Lost when that guy they trusted. 
If you would fight with all your might, 

And get thrown through the gate, 
Go to some guv 'round there and try 

To offer "poison bait." 



THE JOILT LIFE OF THE FARMER'S WIFE 

The farmer's wife leads a jolly life, 

As you will plamly sec 
When I get through telling to you 

Jus! what her work may be: 

All ihe has to do is cook the meals, 
And soothe the baby when it squeals, 
Wash the dishes, mop the floors, 
Answer the phone and watch the doors, 
Wash the clothes and mend the •►ocks, 
Iron the linens and^nake her frocks. 
Patch the pants and milk the cowt, 



18 ''Rimes" of the Times 

Olium the butter and slop the sows, 
Feed the chickens and water the flowers, 
And bathe the children at certain hours, 
Tend the g-arden and can the fruit. 
And set the dog on' the neighbor's brute, 
Cut the children's hair a:id chase the cat, 
Out of the milkhouse, rend the fat, 
Polish the silver and blacken the stove. 
Carry water from the spring- in the cove, 
Straig'hten the window shades, settle the 

scraps. 
And soothe the hurts of the little chaps, 
Cloan' out the attic and shoo the fowls 
Off the back porch and change the towels, 
Wipe up the mud the boys and pa 
Track in, and write a note to ma, 
And bake the bread and m,ake the cakes, 
And v/hile she rests, the carpet she shakes, 
Dust tlie furniture, beat the r-uu,s. 
Air the feather beds, hunt bed bugs, 
Warm the water to soak pa's feet 
And go to the door a friend to greet, 
Keeps neighbor's baby while she goes to 

town 
To get herself a brand new gown, 
And get the children off to school, 
Get rid of that book agent fool. 
Spray the trees and trim the lamp, 
Set the dog on a ragged tramp. 
Get the men up early in the morn. 
So they can go to work in the corn, 
Pick the geese and gather the berries. 
Start the fires and can the cherries, 



'* Rimes" of the Times 19 

Rake the lawn and the kindling: cnop, 
Empty the ash can, carry the slop, 
Hunt collar buttons and make the pies, 
Answer the door bell, swat the flies, 
Make the beds and string the beans, 
Garry the stove wood, gather "greens," 
Make a stall for the hired man's thumb, 
Answer question© until she is dumb, 
Gather the eggs and set the hens. 
Get rid of some insurance men, 
Drive the pigs back into their pen. 
Ring the dinner bell, and then 
That afternoon she'll go and work 
Her poor head off for the heathen Turk 
At the Missionary Society; 
She leads a jolly life, you see. 

And now, on top of all of that, 
She has taken up the bat 
And vows she'll show the M. F. A. 
She can out-bat us any day. 

They're going to organize the state, 
Eliminate the "poison bait." 
We silly men are much too slov*' 
To make the cause get up and go. 
They'll help us win the chicken fight, 
And I am sure, 'twill come out right. 
Tliey're after better rural schools; 
Better teachers, fewer fools; 
Better homes and better joys 
To keep at home the girls and boys; 
Better kitchens, better pies: 
Better screens to bar the flies; 



80 ^Slmes'* of the nsies 

Better gard«ni, better trees; 
Better berries, better bees; 
Better children — j^oodness knovr.^. 
How this better story grows! — 
Better churches, better towns; 
Bi^^er checks to buy her gowns; 
Better trade at the Farmers' Store, 
Belter ways to help the poor: 
Better chickens, better eggs; 
B'SIfcr juicv yellow leg»; 
Better cooking, better canning; 
Better locnl Oh. what a panning 
We poor simps are foing to yet, 
]f we dot/t wake up, you bet! 
Mcthinks I can hear her veil: 
"We'll do the job. and do it well." 
She makes her watch-word, "Loyalty!" 
And ^i\\ not foster royalty; 
Wants a square deal, true and just; 
Wants to help the men folks bust 
That lying, thieving, robbing trust, 
Which fattens through its wolfish lust 
For gain, by cheating on the things 
The farmer's wife to market brings. 

Now, girls, to lead.a jolly life. 
Become a simple farmer's wife; 
Con nu-bi al fe-lic-i-lv, 
And the W. P. F. C, 
Will never let you idle be; 
To this, I'm sure you will agree. 

1-t-t 

Fftrm«rt' wives, farmers' wives! All our lives, Loyal! 



*' Rimes" of the Times 21 

THE POISON SQUAD 

Now, boys, a story I will tell, 

I think it is a charmer, 
About some adolescent gents. 

Who farm the Missouri farmer. 
There's the "Rural Missoury-ist," 

The "Country Ozarkman," 
The "Farm'em & Soak'em," at K. C, 

And others of that clan — 
If a bunch cooperate 

To buy a new he-goat, 
Or chip in a dime apiece 

To hire a fishing" boat — 
They will g-ive it valued space. 

And brag and gloat and prate, 
How we poor simps are getting wise, 

How we co-operate. 

But, now, have you ever seen 

A kindly word of praise 
From anv of these gentlemen 

About our Farm Club ways? 
Why don't they tell about our work, 

Explain the Farm Club plan. 
The greatest get-together move 

Since Adam was a man? 
There's something wrong, you will agree, 

When this move they ignore; 
They slur and hint, insinuate, — 

Say, boys, it makes me sore! 

ril tell you what's the matter, boys, 



22 "Rimes'' of the Times 

Why they ignore our cause, 
And slander such men as Bill Hirth, 

Wadsworth and D. M. Gause; 
They want to stand in with tho bunch 

Who've robbed us guys for years; 
What care they for the farmer's fate, 

His joys, triumphs, or tears? 
They know that if our move succeeds 

Some one will lose a job; 
For we'll control the market place 

Of those who steal and rob. 

If we would join their "Farmer" bunch, 

Which Wail Street does control, — 
No doubt the names of the "Big- Five" 

Is there upon their roll, — 
And sacrifice the principles 

For which we long have fought. 
Then they would run our biz for us. 

For they would have us caught. 
A bunch of farmers we would be, 

Tied up to "business men." 
Say, do you know what would become 

Of our good Farm Club plan ? 

Now, boys, so far as I'm concerned 

They can just stop my paper, 
Until they learn a little sense. 

And cut a better caper. 



I'm a fine young rooster, 
A Farm Club Booster, 
Am I right? Good Night! 



"Kimes" of the Times 23 

HOP TO IT 

Why should we toil from day to day 
At shocking wheat or pitching hay, 
At chopping wood or guiding plows, 
Or shearing sheep or milking cows? 
Why labor hard to feed the men 
Who rob us eveiy time they can? 
Why do we work and strive and heave 
To get a little coin to leave? 

I'll tell you why: It is because 
We love our children. Let us pause, 
And use our heads above our ears, 
That they may say in future years: 
"Our daddies did not toil in vain; 
Their loss was our eternal gain." 

What profit it if we should raise 
Enough to feed us many days. 
And have abundant stores to sell 
To those who live where riches dwell, 
If we cannot get the cost 
Of raising it. Our time is lost, 
Our labor gonfe, our heart is sore; 
Say, let's not do it any more! 

Let's spend some time and leam to sell 
What we know how to raise so well. 
Let us do, ourselves, the job 
Entrusted those who steal and rob 
Us of the first-finiits of our labor. 
Come on, let's go, hop to it, neighbor! 



24 "Rimes" of the Times 

EDUCATE 

Well, things look blue to tell to you, 

That is, I think they do. 
If all would work, and no one shirk, 

Oui' troubles would be few. 
It is the cuss who starts a fuss, 

And will not help us out, 
And carries lies to country guys. 

That I would talk about. 

When* we first met and contract let 

To start our good Exchange, 
Our feed and flour within an hour 

Was sliding down the range. 

With prices low we had to go 

On other dealers here; 
We spread the word, and soon was heard 

The good news everywhere, 
That you could save (which all men crave) 

Good monfey at our store, 
And afterwhile, there was a smile 

On farmers' phiz galore. 

But, 'twas not long, so goes this song, 

Ere produce men and packers 
Began to bribe the farmer tribe 

To be a bunch of slackers. 

They said, "We'll wait, 'tis not too late 

Till the egg-flow is over, 
We'll pay so much for eggs and such, 



''Eimes" of the Times 25 

They'll think they are in clover. 

"For we can steal — they will not squeal — 

From folks in nearby states, 
Enoug-h to buy each weakkneed guy 

With lots of poisoned baits. 

*Tor we must bust this farmers' trust 

Of R'ood cooperation 
Or it will spread — which we all dread — 

All over this great nation." 

Too bad, too bad, it makes me sad. 
And grieved at heart to write it, 
But many fell. 

I wish you'd tell 

Me how we're going to fight it. 
The only rem-edy for them, 

I think, is education; 
No other way will win the day 

In such a situation. 



OLD BILL JONES 

Now, Old Bill Jones, peace to his bones, 
Was raised down on' the farm; 

When quite a lad, he said to dad: 
"Say, pop; now, what's the harm, 

If I should go to town, you know. 
And land a big fat job? 

I'd like to join myself to coin. 



26 ''Rimes" of the Times 

No longer be a slob." 

Said dad: "By heck, that's just the check; 

I'm sure you will suicceed; 
You'll soon be rich; the money which 

You know we badly need 
Will put us out of debt, about; 

Then we can take our ease, 
And wear good clothes and go to shows, 

And do just as we please." 

To town went Bill, who had his fill 

Of hard work on the farm; 
Became a broker, learned to play poker; 

He never thought it harm 
To get the cash, if he had to smash 

The other fellow's game; 
And, aftei-w^hile, we won a pile, 

And quite a little fame. 

He told his dad, who said, "My lad, 

I think I'll take a shot; 
I'll put another mortgage on. 

And try to win a pot." 

Bill took the coin, which went to join 

A good pile of his own. 
And boug'ht "May wheat," which can't he 
beat, 

(A fact which is well known) 
To separate the "sucker's bait. 

And leave him ne'er a bone. 

Bill lost his all in the gTeat fall 



'^Ehnes'* of the Times 27 

The market prices took. 
His dad, who trusted, was also busted, 
And caught upon their hook. 

Bill was all in; no one can win 

When gamblers get together; 
They raise the price, or lower them, 

No matter what the weather. 

Bill went back home and ceased to roam 

'Mid city's glaring splendor, 
And spent his days try-ing to raise 

Enough good legal tender 
To pay his dad. Too bad, too bad; 

Bill never could recover. 
One day 'twas said that o'er his bed, 

The grim scythe-man did hover. 

Poor Old Bill Jones; 
Grod rest his bcnes. 



THE LIAR 

Now, at this time I'd like to "rime,'- 

In words of livid fire, 
About the way, from day to day. 

The profiteer's paid liar, 
Is going 'round from town to town, 

And knocking on our dealers, 
And telling lies to simple guys 

That Farm Club stores are stealers. 

I'll tell you, boys, the future joys 



28 * ' Eimes ' ' of the Times 

Of those we love — who love us — 
Must now depend, how we defend 

Them from the thieves above us. 
Oh, comrades, men; I say again, 

Stand loyal; stick tog-ether, 
And we will win. It is a sin. 

No matter what the weather, 
In sun or rain, for penny's gain, 

To listen to their story; 
And those who do will ne'er get through 

To that eternal glory. 

No rich man's gold, or story told, 

Will ever buy my chickens; 
Let's organize, and tell those guys 

They can go to the "Dickens." 



MORE PEP 

Too many men in our good clan 

Pay in their yearly dough. 
And there they stop, they do not hop 

To it and make it go. 
They've paid their mon, the fight is won. 

It's up to us, you know! 

They will not read nor help us lead 

The cause on to success; 
They harp and prate and agitate, 

And p-et things in a mess. 
There's nothing right in the great fight, 

They will not understand 



' ' Rimes ' * of the Times 29 

The well-thought plan of our good clan 
To oust the robber band. 

Is't ignorance, or cussedness? 

Methinks, sometimes, it's both 
That makes them knock, and our boat rock. 

Dear friends, next year, I'm loath 
To take the mon of anyone 

Who will not sign a pledge 
Of unity and loyalty. 

That will give us the edge 
To win the fight; I think I'm right, 

And those who are true blue. 
And l)Ound to stick through thin and thici., 

'Tis those who'll pull us through. 



THE "DUB" 

Tell me, if you can, what kind of a man. 
Is the man who will pass up his Club, 

And go to the guy who robs his to buy 
All his twine? would vou call him a 
"dub?" 

Now, where is the "dub," who passed up his 
Club, 

And went to the dealer to buy 
His binder twine? I hear him whine: 

"The dealer's price wr.s too high." 

What I call a "dub," is a man in the Club, 
Who pays in his two and a half. 

And the rest of the year, helps the profiteer 
To give our good cause the laugh. 



' ' Eimes ' ' of the Times 

A LETTER 

Lockwood, Mizzu. 
Dear Folks: 

I'm through, 

And this is why I'm quitting, 
That habit bad that I have had, 

Of chev/ing and of spitting. 
When I first met my darhng pet, 

And brought her to my shack-o, 
I did not chew, and spit and spew, 

That "nasty old tobacco;" 
But married life, and toil and strife, 

Soon drove me to the habit, 
I tdiought I'd keep it secret deep. 

But soon I had to blab it. 
At every chance she shakes my pants. 

To see if I have any; 
But v/hat is worse, she robs my puise 

Of its last toil-worn penny. 
So this is why I'm going to try 

To quit that old tobacco, 
Perchance beguile my wife awhile 

To have peace in my shack-o. 
Now, if you use this in the "News," 

I may not write again — 
For seven days. 

I'm yours always, 

Bill Hadanother Paine. 



W. P. F. C, M. F. A., 

That is the way to spell it. 
This is the way to yell it: 
FARM CLUBS! 



"ilimcs" of the l^imes SI 

THE KNOCKER 

The crazy g-uy who g^ets my goat, 
And makes me want to rock his boat, 
is the man who at every chance, 
Will g-et out on the street and prance, 
And tell the boys we will not stick, 
ThuL 'tis no use to try one trick. 

"The profiteer is organized, 

Well financed and advertised, 

So, what's the use in trying to wiit? 

We're whipped before we e'er start in. 

The Farmers' do not p:iy enough 

To get my precious eggs and stuff; 

Why, I can get a penny more 

Rig"ht down there at tlie packers' store." 

A lot of other poison lore 

He puts out — don't it make you sore? 



A LITTLE GIRL 

A little girl, 
So I've been told, 
With teeth of pearl. 
And hair of gold, 
Went out to play 
One summer day, 
Enjoy the breeze, 
She took her doll. 

Beneath the trees. 



32 "Rimes" of the Times 

And parrot, Poll, 
Her Tabby cat. 
And summer hat. 

Down to the brook 
She went to look 
For flowers sweet, 
Beneath her feet. 

She hunted flowers 
In quiet bowers, 
Strawberries wild. 
And sweet and mild. 

She listened to the birdies sin-g^, 
And drank cool water from the spring, 
She likes to live out on the farm, 
Where she can enjoy Nature's charm. 



I'm brave and bold, 
With a heart of g:old; 
I'm three years old, 
So I've been told. 

Grandma Hood 

Says I'm good 

For the chanco I've had, 

Bedad! 

I'm daddy's boy, 
And mama's joy, 
Sister's brother; 
There's no other 
Just like me, you see. 



"Rimes" of the Times 33 

MELON-COLIC 

The melon-colic days are past, 
And maybe we can sleep at last, 
As when the evenfing* zephyrs sigh, 
And stars above the world so high, 
Shine down* through an ocean blue, — 
Perchance we will get a wink or two. 

When I was young and full of vim, 
And led by every youthful whim, 
I thought it nothing then to frisk 
The biggest melons — darn the risk, 
If Farmer Jones should chance to be 
Hid in- the corn field there to see — 
I'd take a chance once, anyhow — 
You bet, I wouldn't do it now — 
His melon patch investigate. 
Take home enough to make a bait 
That would make me lie awake 
All night with that old tummy-ache. 



Why should I "nme" from time to time, 

Urtless something I say? 
For I would balk at making talk 

Without a cent of pay, 
)Do I not think that printer's ink. 

When mixed with proper brains, 
Could win the fight for truth and right, 

Until no one remains 
Without the fold. 

When winds blow cold, 



34 ' ' Rimes ' ' of the Times 

And summer's toil is o'er, 
I'll take my Ford and spread the word 

To several hundred more, 
About the great work in our state, 

The g-rand old M. F. A., 
How it plays "hobb" with those who rob 

The farmer of his pay. 



THE FARM CLUB PAPER 

I think it's time to make a "rime" 

About our Farm Club paper, * 
They changed .its name, — it's bound for 
fame — 

They cut another caper: 
That brand new dress; oh, my! I guess, 

It looks like a "humdinger!" 
If well all help that hustling whelp, 

The editor, — ink slinger — 
We can't go wrong. 

Ten thousand strong, 
Each loyal Farm Club booster, 
Should write today to him and say: 

"Just send it to this rooster." 
(*Farm Club News, Springfield, Mo.) 

ll-lHi 

The best friend of the packer 
Is a dirty penny-slacker. 
Who, for one cent a dozen, 
Will keep the lies a-buzzin*, 
The produce men are telling, 
How they cart beat us selling. 



'T.imes" of the Times 35 

Hey, you Farm Club Rooster, 

A question I would ask: 
"Are you a Farm Club Booster, 

Wiliing to do your task? 
Or, are you simply 'waiting 

To see what the other fellers do,* 
And harpingr long, and prating, 

Because things don't suit you?" 

Ii-!l-l[ 

The great American farmer 

Is a cheerful geezer, by heck; 
When he sells a bushel of stuff, 

He gets paid for only a peck; 
The ultimate consumer 

In another chump, they say; 
When he buys a peck of stuff. 

For a bushel he has to pay. 



The busy littie honey bee 

Works hard from dawn to dark, 
To gather the ambrosia 

And store it in his ark. 
But when his crop is harvested. 

He thinks to take his ease, 
A great two-legged giant comes 

And robs the little bees. 

Just So with the farmer, 

He works, too, all day, 
Producing abundant surplus, 

And hopes to "make it pay." 
'Long comes another giant 

And takes the fruit of his toil; 



3G *' Rimes" of the Times 

Yes, lie's just like the honey bee, 
This tiller of the soil. 



ROTT 

Riley said to me one day: 

At naming books, you're quite a jay; 

"Rimes" of the Times, oh, what a name; 
Of course, 'twill never bring you fame. 
The naminig of a book takes thought'n 
Times like these-. Your book is ROTT'n! 



FINIS 

Dear Farm Club News: 

There is no use: 

I've tried now for a week; 
My mental throne is solid bone 

When there for "rimes" I seek. 
My "riming" clock beneath that shock 

Of bristling hair galore. 
It seems, has stopped, the wheels have 
hopped, 

And won't "rime" any more. 

Whene'er I try, with pensive sigh, 

To court the wary Muse, 
The wife will talk, or the kid will squawk, 

Till ideas will refuse 
To come to light so I can write 

Them down for all to see. 
Perhaps next week my head will reek 

With lofty po-et-ree. 



'Rimes" of the Times 37 

iart (Eiuo 

Jfarm ttlub JHortry anb Uttst from 
BatxUiis SnurcrB 



OLD TOMMY TOODLES 

Old Tommy Toodles raised some hens, 

And took them to the town; 
He tried the Farm Club Exchange first, 

Then poultry dealer Brown. 
The Exchange man said sixteen cents, 

But Brown just raised him one, 
So Uncle Tommy took the "bait," 

And here begms the fun. 

He did not like the M. F. A., 

And told the neighbors all, 
That Brown would always pay the most 

For poultry, Spring and Fall. 
He raised a lot of discontent 

'Mong farmers round about, 
And helped to break the Exchange do'WTi, 

And Brown to beat it out. 

But when he raised some other hens 

And took them in to sell, 
Then Bro\vn said just eleven cents. 

And Uncle Tom said ■! 



3^ * * Rimes ' ' of the Times 

Cut on his homeward way he met 

A chap called Pizen Sam, 
Who talked with him about an hour, 

To tell the Farm Club plan. 

Then Uncle Tommy cranked his Ford, 

And went out down the road, 
To help the boys to organize 

And lift the heavy load. 
The Club Exchanif^e is back ajj:am 

While former dealer Brown, 
Just sits and swears from mom' 'til night, 

The maddest man in tov/n. 

—By "Old Man Lyon."^ 



A PENNY MAN 

I would not be a penny man, 
I know it is not wise; 
And men who offer market bribes 
Are wolves in a disguise. 

Wc farmers have to till the soil 
And labor hard all day, 
The nrofiteer takes all the spoil — 
We let him have his way. 

All wealth is produced from the soil, 

Our clothing, shelter, food; 

Yet men who spend their days at toil 

Receive but little good. 

For city men are prone to think 



"Rimes" of the Times 39 

That working: men are dogs; 

They want to keep us on the "blink," 

Mired deep in want's great bogs. 

But who built the cities great, 

The towns, the country stores; 

The church and school 'bout which we prate ? 

'Twar. farmers by the scores. 

Who o\\Tis the cities grand. 

The country store and town? 

Who Qwns the mortgage on our land? 

'Tis those who hold us down. 

So let's don't build them anymore, 
But let's work for ourselves; 
We'll own our little Farmers' Store, 
And the goods upon its shelves. 
The railroad men who run our trains, 
The workmen in the shop, 
The tinner, plumber, carpenter, 
Are organized, old top. 

And they can strike most any day 

For money or for fun, 
And higher wages you must pay. 

Or your work won't be done. 

But the poor old farmer's sitting flat 

Down at the foot of the hill, 
While the profiteer is living fat, 

And he farmer foots the bill. 

And now, all men who have a oackbone, 



40 ''Rimes" of the Times 

GQt up in the linfe and yell, 
Stick to the Farm Club, and we'll win us a 
home. 
And give those profiteers hell. 

— Roy S. Dorman. 

• ll-ll-ll 

THE FARM CLUB BAND 

We are a loyal Farm Club band — 

Hurray! Hurray! 
Who think it time to take a stand 

And have a little say 
About our farm productions. 

And how to make them pay. 
So now, goodbye, old profiteers — 

The Farm Club's come to stay. 

The Farm Club is a mighty band — 

Hurray! Hurray! 
They'll soon be heard throughout the lard, 

For they are here to stay. 
So. lookout, all you "kickers," 

Be careful what you say; 
I think you'd better "come across" 

And join our M. F. A. 

Now, ever loyal let us be — 

Hurray! Hurray! 
Our Clubs shall reach from sea to sea; 

'Twill be a glorious day. 
And when we own the market road 

From field to millers' bin, 

The M. F. A. will surely say: 

"Old profiteer, 'cash in.' " 

— Winifred Bick. 



Rimes" of the Times 41 

WHEN THE FARMERS ORGANIZE 

It is coming, it is coming, 

I can scent it in the air, 

For the farmers are all having 

Their meetings everywhere. 

They are talking of their products, 

And aboul; the middle man, 

For a change of farmers' prices, 

Is the g'ood old Farm Club plan. 

There must surely be some system, 
And I hope they find it soon, 
When the farmers all together 
Read the profiteer his doom; 
For we worked along and trusted 
That a decent price we'd gain, 
But he almost got us busted 
When he nearly stole our gi ain. 

Oh. you bet we'll fix those fellows 
When we all get organized. 
For our case is getting desperate. 
And wo often times surmise, 
That with the MissouH Farmers, 
Full one hundred thousand strong, 
We can lick the very devil 
Is, the burden of our song. 

"The Riverview Farm Club 
Believe in lots of grub; 
They don't give a rub 
If you bring it in a tub. 

— Box 56, Tuscumbia, Mo. 



4S ^' Rimes" of the Times 

THAT FARM CLUB FIGHT 

We hear the "Farm Club Gospel" preached 

From morning until night; 
Don't hesitate to join the bunch 

And help them win their fight. 

The war they wag-e on ev^ry cuss 

Who thinks he has the right 
To set the price on farm produce 

So low, 'tis out of sight. 

But when it is their turn to sell 

To us their worthless stuff, 
You'll find the price that they put on 

Is truly high enough. 

Who IS the master, arfyhow, 

Of the fruits of our friendly soil? 

Those things we earned through hardships, 
And through unrequited toil ? 

You goggle-eyed old money shark! 

You think but of yourself. 
Some day we'll make you pay the price 

For your illgotten pelf. 

Ye robbers filled with lust and pride. 

Ye profiteering hogs, 
Think of the many stalwart lads 

"Now going to the dogs." 

They left their splendid homes, because 



''Uimcs" of the Times 43 

The old farm woiildn't pay, 
And joined the "g-et-rich-quick brigades," 
In cities far away. 

And poor old Dad, it breaks his heart. 

And mother weeps ail day. 
That lioy she loved from babyhood 

Ha:; g-one — has gone to stay. 

There are some men in Washington 

Who solemnly declare, 
That tariff on imported goods 

Is anything but fair. 

When eggs are broug^ht from Argentine 

For thirteen cents per doz., 
And in New York sold for one buck 

It makes your ear-drums buzz. 

When different kinds of substitutes 

Come in from ev'ry land, 
It knockf^ OUT prices all to sma^^h. 

How much more can we stand? 

Ye gentlemen of this great state, 

Let's ask not to be shown; 
But show the rest of all the world 

To what size we have grown. 

The saving on a sack of flour 

Will pay your yearly dues; 
Besides 'twill buy some "Horseshoe," too, 

The best durn cure for blues. 



44 .'^Eimes" of the Times 

We hear men tell "what might have been," 

That profiteering should stop; 
And "how much money we have lost 

On our nineteen twenty crop." 

"Of all sad words of tongue or pen," 

A poet said of old, 
"The saddest are. *It might have been.' " 

Indeed, the truth he told. 

Ye fighting squad of Rumpus Gap, 
Who live 'mid mountain, crag and dell, 

Get on their trail in hot pursuit, 
And give these skunks some — well! 

Ye stalwart sons of this great State, 

Let's raise our banner high. 

And for our motto let us take: 

. "We're going to do or die." 

— Henry A. Kiefer* 



THE MASTER WHEEL 

We will writ« about the master wheel 
Our county board's the hub. 
The Exchanges are the fellows, 
The spokes they are the Clubs. 

We want to mention Samuel Yos, 
That brave and stalwart son, 
To whom belonigs the credit 
For what we all have done. 



''Eimes" of the Times 45 

There are the boys at Green City, 
We thank them for what they've done; 
They were the pioneers in a movement — 
The best one under the sun. 

The Newton's we'll mention, 
Scotts, Pig-g-s and Judds as well; 
The g-ood they've done the movement 
We find no words to tell. 

To the Browning boys we give the cake 
For the speed they made each day, 
With Kille and Wamper in the lead, 
There was no other way. 

The Milan boys, we will admit, 
Are shrewd and full of pride; 
They are always willing to co-operate 
With the boys on either side. 

The Castle boys, we are glad to say, 
Are always in the right; 
The volume of business they do 
We will admit is out of sight. 

The Pollock and the Boynton boys, we ate 

sure 
They are doing very well. 
At Reger they are a loyal bunch. 
We are sure glad to tell. 

We congratulate the Humphrey boys. 
They were slow we will have to tell, 
But their territory they have organized, 



46 "Rimes" of the Times 

And organzied it well. 

The Osgrood Club, we are proud of them, 

Of the business they do each day; 

They have the old spirit that will win the 

fight, 
All this we are glad to say. 

Harris, you know we need you 
To complete this wheel, you see; 
We do not believe it will be long 
Until at Harris an Exchange will be. 

Tho Winigan Club we 'most forgot, 
But their business they've handled well; 
We fiivvered to their annual meeting 
And heard them ring the Farm Club bell. 

We cannot read the future. 
As we are asked to do each day; 
We do not pose as prophets 
As we hustle on our way. 

But we believe, dear farmers, 
If you will only stick and stay, 
That somewhere in the future 
There will be a better day. 

— T. H. DeWitt. 

All names may be changed to suit local club. 



Farmers' wives, farmers' wives! 
All our lives, LOYAL! 



* '■ Eimas ' ' of the Times 47 

FROM "BILL," OF "RUMPUS GAP" 

Oh, I love to be a farmer 

And with the farmer stand; 
Alfalfa hay upon my face 

And corns grow in my hand. 
I love to hit the cold bare boards, 

The weather ten below, 
Build up the fires, put on my clothes, 

Go out and shovel snow. 
I care not for the icy blasts, 

The long cold winter's day; 
I thaw out pumps and slop the hogs, 

And deal out com and hay. 

In summer's sun, the race I run 

With fleeting time, God knows; 
From early morn I plow green corn 

Between darned crooked rows. 
And in the hay the livelong day, 

I toil through sweltering heat; 
My wife keeps hens to pay the men 

Who do not work, but eat. 

In threshing time I cannot see 

Why prices always fall; 
I get cold hell lammed out of me 

And nothing left at all. 
When corn goes down I can but frown, 

My hogs all have the thumps. 
I have the flu, and feel darned blue; 

I sure am in the dumps. 

I've joined the Grange, the Farm Clubs, too; 



4S ''Rimes" of the Times 

The motto was, "We'll Stick;" 
We all kick in some doug*h of tin, 
And thoug-ht to turn the trick. 

The old line man, he had a plan — 

He'd worked it many times — 
To buy weak-kn^ed and selfish men 

With worn-out, rusty dimes. 
He'd set a price one cent above 

The honest market rate, 
Because of p;reed they did not heed. 

And took his "poison bait." 

They sold ffood hens and jenny wrens, 

Leghorn and Shanghai cox. 
All unmindful of our plan 

To "break" this old line fox. 

And thus the men and kids and dames, 
All prompted by their g-reedy aims, 
Stampeded, and ignored our storn. 
And turned the night latch in thr? door. 

Of all the folks I've ever seen, 
I know of none so g-oshdurned mean. 
Who help build hopes on cold, thin air, 
Then leave us helpless, standing: there. 

I'd rather be a Zulu man 

And dwell in darkest zones, 
And beat upon a tom-tom pan. 

And feast on bloody bones, 
Than live upon the virgin soil, 



"Rimes" of the Times 49 

My time in honest labor spent, 
Then sell my hens and friends and toil 
Out, for one copper cent. 

I'd rather be a farmer man 

And deal out com and oats, 
And live upon corn dodger pones 

And mingle with the goats, 
Than deal with men who do not "ken" 

The farmers' one great cause. 
Who sell their children, hopes and friends, 

And squeeze red coppers in their claws. 
—"Bill," The Secretary, in Missouri Farmer. 



CUNO HAS THE DOPE 

F. L. Cuno, whom you all know — 
At least some of you do; 
Came to our tx)wn one day last week 
When things looked awful blue. 

He got acquainted with the boys, 
Gave all a glad handshake. 
And what that gentleman told us 
Kept ev'ry one awake. 

Wheat had made a tremendous drop. 
Eggs sold for twenty cents. 
And ev'ry farmer down the road 
Was simply on the fence. 

We told him all our troubles, and 

Said he, " *Tis not so bad, 

I've got some dope, to cure your ills; 



50 "Rimes" of the Times 

Cheer up, and don't be sad." 

'Mong other things he told us this: 
"You have to organize, 
And beat the robbers at their game; 
You'll give them a surprise." 

He told us how the packers all 

Are weakening in their knees, 

And how the sharks who buy our grain 

Just hop around like fleas; 

They kniow that something's stirring how, 
They smell it in the breeze. 
For signs of danger they can see 
On rocks and hills and trees. 

When Mr. Cuno came down here 

To old Ste. Genevieve, 

That he would meet with much success 

We could not well believe. 

One nig'ht he went to Bourbon school, 
Where once a Club had failed, 
And renovated that old trap 
Until the dum thing sailed. 

Next day when he had been refreshed 
He went to Shady Grove, 
And that same night to Kehl he went 
And herded in a drove. 

Some day we will grow very strong, 



Rimes" of the Times 51 

And 'tvvon't be long, I hope; 

Vm sure thing's will be humming soon, 

For Cuno has the dope. 

—By H. A. Keifer. 



LOYALTY TO THE CLUB 

Farmers, we're glad you're out tonight, 

For such a worthy cause: 

Y'ou muist sure keep this thing going, 

Now don't ever stop and pause, 

For you know this farming business 

Sure has its ups and downs, 

And some folks thmk we're far behind. 

The people in the towns; 

But that one word "LOYALTY" 

Is the subject of my talk. 

For there never was a good thing started. 

But somebody had to balk. 

Just think of old George Washington, 

Anid old Abe Lincoln, too: 

It was loyalty to their Country 

That brought the people through; 

And it's LOYALTY to any cause, 

Whatever it may be 

That makes a success of anything. 

As I think you will all agree. 

When you come down to the farmers' store. 

With a dab of eggs and butter. 

And they don't pay what New York does, 



52 ** Rimes" of the Times 

Now don't get mad and splutter; 

Bul3 take your check and smile and say, • 

"Well, Fm a loyal guy. 

And I'm for making this thing a success, 

If the prices ain't so high." 

It may take grit to do it, 
In this day and age, you know, 
When everyone is trying, 
To pile up a little dough. 

There's lots of big bugs that got rich, 
Off you old Hayseed Rubes, 
A sellin' farming outfits, 
As well and Flivver tir^s and tubes; 
And the time has come when you will 
Have to speak up for yourselves, you bet, 
Or all the "mon" you ever had. 
Those Prifitecrs will get. 

Now. Mr. Farmer, kindly take some good 

advice. 
And don't take your produce elsewhere. 
Just to get a higher price. 

—Mrs. D. W. Loeh. 



You bet we are always on the job, 

We are boosters every one, 

For we're boosting from the rising 

To the setting of the sun. 

We have boosted our merchant 



"Rimes" of the Times 53 

From the sunshine into the shade, 

Cause when he said "jump" we always paid. 

He sits on the creek bank and fishes, 
While we drive right by to town, 
To haul our chickens and our eggs, 
And blow our money all around, 
And yet he never says a word, 
He knows we intend to bow our neck 
And see the dam thing through 
If it takes the hide off, by heck. 

If he had done like the rest of us, 

Had looked pleasant and come across. 

We would have patronized him some 

And saved him much great loss; 

But he stroked our bristles the wrong way, 

Anid you know even a hound dog 

Has his day — ^lias his day. 

— Selected. 



* THE GLENDALE FARM CLUB 

There is a little white school house 

Just down the lane, 
And the way it's been neglected 

Is an awful shame. 
No Farm Club they had there, 

I'm sorry to say; 
Some said, the two fifty they couldn't pay. 
But one night in February 

The farmers all came. 



54 "Riines" of the Times 

To see if they, too, could g-et in the game. 

In walked George Kelley 
With a message of his; 

He says, "Now, look here, boys, 
We can't live like this. 

"We'll organize a Farm Club here, 

Without any doubt; 
And not one of you farmers 

Must be left out." 
He told what the Clubs were 

Doing in other places, 
You should have seen the change on their 
faces ! 

So they organized a Farm Club 

At Glendale that night; 
And the way they've been working's 

A wonderful sight. 
Every first and third Friday, 

Each month in the year, 
The farmers have pledged 

To do business here. 

S. H. Groves is the President, 

All full of "pep." 
John Koenke is the vice, 

Always ready to help. 
Louie Basten, who is never contrary, 

They up and chose e 
As tJieir good secretary. 

He does all their writing, , ] 



"Rimes" of the Times j 05. 

Without any pay; 
And keeps all their books 

In a business-like way. 
The ladies got busy the men 

To surprise; 
They met at the school house, 

There to organize. 

They brot sandwiches and coffee. 

And served in great style. 
And the men it did please, 

You could tell by their smile. 
They ate and drank to their hearts content, 

And all decided 
It was an evening well spent. 

So a ''Woman's Auxiliary" they organized, 

too. 
And looked about for work they could do. 

They must have their own officers. 
Without any doubt. 

So each club would know 
What they were about. 

Mrs. Koenke was elected their President, 
And a willing hand she gladly lent. 

Alma Monks their vice-grand, 
■ And bravely and proudly 

She took the stand. 
Mrs. Nelson was elected the secreiarj'^ tnae. 
And is always her part to do. 

And now we ar© organized good and strong. 



56 ''Rimes" of the Times 

Men SLYid women both belong. 

And now, good friends, I'll tell you tonight, 

The Glenndale Club is right in the fight. 

For the Country and State to organize; 
And the work they are doing 

It's hard to realize. 
All are loyal members^ — 

And one thing more — 
They take their produce 

To the Farmers' Store. 

Now, this is the history 

Of the Club at Glendale; 
And the way they are working, 
They are sure not to fail. 

— Mrs. John Koenke. 
* All names may be changed to apply to 
local club. 



IS THIS YOU? 

If all the members of my Club 
Were doing just like me, 
Then what sort of a Club think you 
The one Vm in would be? 

I never hear the leaders preach 
Nor to the meetings go; 
I work too late on meeting night — 
I let the whole works go. 

The evening hours I stay at home. 



*' Rimes" of the Times 57 

We have so many chores 

The evening meetings I omit 

For the reason — bad night air. 

But when the town folks have their shows 

The night air is not bad, 

Then I must go — everybody goes, 

No doubt someone is glad. 

Then there are members in my Club 
That said that I was bad, 
And if I don't stay away from the Club 
Why then I can't stay mad. 

Yes, to be sure it is a shame 

To treat my neighbors so; 

It hurts the cause and ruins my name — 

Why should I stoop so low? 

I give no money to the Club, 
I live for self, you see. 
For the dying groans of my Club 
Would not appeal to me. 

I've turned my back upon my Club 
And I've ceased to pray, 
I've laid my bible on the shelf; 
I want to have my way. 

But then my way can't please the rest, 
In fact, it don't please me; 
I wish I was in the work 
Just as my neighbors be. 

If all the members of the Club 



58 ''Kimes" of the Times 

Will do as I have done, 

There'd be no Farm Clubs today 

Beneath the shining sun. 

It's true, I should g'o back to them 
And try to do my part; 
But how can I, when stubborn pride 
Is ruling in my heart? 

Dear Lord, do Thou in mercy help 

These errmg ones of Thine ? 

Anoint them with Thy grace afresh 

Artd wheel them into line. 

Then shall the church in armour clad 

To every nation go. 

With faith in God who leads the fight. 

We'll conquer every foe, 

— Uncle Henry. 



BUSINESS ON THE FARM 

Says Farmer Jones to Neighbor Brown, 
"Let's sell our farms and move to town; 
We labor hard from year to year 
And only make a living here, 
While over in the Burg, they say, 
That every business man I know 
Lays up a little dough. 

"The Grocerman has bought a car, 
That's worth more money than you are; 
The hardware man is making cash 



"Rimes" of the Times 59. 

Faster than hired men eat hash. 

The grain man makes the mon somehow, 

He's riding- in a Packard now. 

He's built a big fine mansion, too, 

'Way out on the Avanoo. 

These fellows always wear good clothes, 

And take in all the picture shows, 

While we toil on from day to day 

And get our board and clothes for pay. 

"Of course they look to us for bread, 
'Tis our own wheat that they are fed. 
Our Biddies lay the eggs they eat; 
Our porkers furnish them their meat. 
We take our produce in' each day 
And take just what they want to pay. 

"Cornfed canaries, so they say. 
Rube, clodhopper, and country jay. 
These are the terms that we must bear, 
While theirs is Mr. Millionaire. 
So I've decided. Neighbor Brown, 
Thiat I'll sell out and move to touTi." 

"Quite right your are," says Brown to Jones, 
"The business men lay up the bones, 
And all we can hope to clear 
Is one pair of overalls a year. 
So long as we keep cutting ice. 
And let the buyer set the price, 

"'But stop and look before you leap; 
Sometimes the goat becomes the sheep. 



60 ** Rimes" of the Times 

Farming in town will never pay, 
You'll be a Rube your oldest day. 
But sui*ely there could be no harm 
In bringing Business to the Farm. 

How does the gix)cer get his cash? 
By selling us poor Rubes our hash. 
How does the hardware man succeed 
By selling us the things we need. 
How does the grain man make his gain? 
He makes it all off of our grain. 

These business men stand side by side, 
And how are we to save our hide, 
Uifless we imitate these guys, 
And get together and organize?" 

So Farmer Jones and Neighbor Brown 
Call in the neighbors all around, 
And they agreed that it was right 
That Rube and Hayseed should unite. 
Co-operation, they agreed, 
Was really their greatest need. 

So they ordered their own supplies, 
And the savings were a great surprise; 
They bought a house and shipped their grain 
And were delighted with the gain. 

And now a little explanation 

Of what they gainted through organization. 

Today the farmers rides to town 

In their big Hudson Six, 



'*Rime3 ' of the Times 61 

Do they make of him a clown? 
Is he a Hayseed? — Nix! 

The banker meets him at the rloor, 
And shakes his brawny hand, 
Cornfed canary, ah no more — 
He's now a noble man. 

The politician thinks he's grand, 
The man behind the plow, 
Because, the farmer has a hand 
In legislation now. 

The Farmers' Fig-ht has well been staged, 

His battle all but won, 

He has found in this great age. 

His station in the Sun. 

— Selected. 



WHEAT GAMBLER'S FATE 

The farmer ate the wartime bread; 
'Til help them wm the war," he said — 
Enlarged his fields and sowed more grain. 
And toiled long hours in sweat and pain. 

He left the choirs for kid and wife. 
Bent to his task with vim and life; 
He sowed the seed — a high-priced grain — 
Was blest with sunshine and with rain. 

At harvest time the helpers said: 



62 '* Rimes" of the Times 

"Six dollars if we reap for bread;" 

The farmer was oblig-ed to pay 

And ffive fine meals three times a day. 

But soon as threshing was begun, 
The gamblers then began their run; 
The farmer now with empty sack, 
Can't meet the notes he gave way back. 

He's broke in spirit and in purse; 
The deal he's got could not be worse! 
And if they don't let Fai-m Clubs come 
To this relief, he'll lose his home! 

But what goes up must sure come down; 
"No bread," will be the cry in town; 
The farmer'll grind his bread at home— 
The gambler then to shucks must come! 

A. Morris. 



A strike a day keeps prosperity away." 



IT'S YOU 

If you want to have the kind of community 
Like the kind of a community you like, 
You need not slip your clothes in a grip 
And 3tJ:rt on a long, long hike; 
You'll only find what you loft behind, 
For there's nothing that's really new. 
It'si a knock at yourself when you knock 

your community; 
It's not the community — It's vou. 



Rimes'' of the TimeB 63 

You wouldn't expect, if you minded, your 

soil. 
Bumper crops that you used to get. 
Nor aught but runts from feeding that 

stunts; 
Nor payment without a debt. 
One get's returns from what one earns, 
Something must first be due. 
If your community doesn't pay, look at it 

this way: 
It's n^t the community — ■It-'s you. 

Real communities are made by folks afrtiij 

That others will get ahead. 

For when everyone works and no one shirks, 

You can raise a community from the dead. 

And if, while you make your personal stake. 

Your neighbors can mJake one, too, 

Your community will be what you want it 

to be; 
For it isn't the community — It's you. 

— Anonymous. 



THE M. F. A. 

We are from good old Missouri 
And belong to the M. F. A. 
If you don't know what that stands for. 
Just call on us any day. 
It stands for the cost of production 
On oats, wheat, corn and hay, 
And a reasonable per cent of profit 



64 ''Rimes of the Times 

To lay up for a rainy day. 

M. stiands for g^ood old Missouri, 
A state g-rand, noble and true. 
F. stands for the good old farmer, 
Another poor devil like me and you. 
A. stands for Associfation, 
Or g^eunine affiliation. 
And all we ask is a "square deal,'* 
Awd, believe us, we'll get it 
Or make somebody squeal. 
And so to the farmers we do say, 
If you ever expect to get any pay. 
Why, "get hep" to the M. F. A. 
— By C. A. Volksay, Sec'y Lonesome Hill 
Farm Olub, Phillipsburg, Mo. 

II-IMI 

A REGULAR "FELLER" 

His old horse died and his mule went lame, 
And he lost his cow m a poker game; 
A cyclone came one summer day 
And blew his house and bam away; 
Then an earthquake followed to make it 

good 
And swallowed the ground where his house 

had stood. 
And then the mortgage man came around 
And heartlessly claimed the hole in the 

ground. 
But he was game enough to say, 
"Fm still stckin' to the M. F. A." 

— Selected. 



"Rimes" of the Times 65 

Mtscellanrous poetry anb Brrse Unm 
Bart0us Sourrrs 

"CHUMS" 

One evenin' down to the village store 
There sat a dozen men or more, 
Discussin' questions yea and nay, 
AiJ' every one must have his say. 

If there was a heaven or a hell 
The price o* cattle, buy and sell. 
The Pres'dunt to Europe shouldn't go, 
An* if he was here they'd tell him so. 

At last they sort o' grew tired out, 
Arguing things they knew naught 'bout, 
Then they started talkm' o' bygone days, 
An' of the doin's of boyhood ways. 
An' sort o' reviewin' oldtime chums. 
Before they all had left their hums. 

Lazy Jones, he said he knowed 
His best chum was a mule he rode; 
An' Jeem's chum was a dog named Tige, 
Who et rat pizen till he died. 

Another's chum was a freckled boy, 
An' 'nother's v/as a parrot, Roy. 



66 "Rimes" of the Times 

When they's had their say they turned to 

me, 
An' ast me who my chum could be. 

"Well, 'twan't no long-eared mule," says 1, 
"Nor a little weazened freckled b'y> 
Nor was it a yaller dog named Tige, 
Who et rat pizen till he died. 

"But rU tell ye the best chum that I had 
Was nobody but my dear old dad, 
For he was never too tired to play 
After the workings of the day. 

"W6 had most fun when on fishin' bent, 
'Cause Ma most alius wertt. 
It 'ud ram an' Pa, he'd say, 
'I 'spect the fish'U bite today. 
You dig bait, get quite a bunch, 
While I help Ma do up the lunch.* 

"Pa, he'd alius bait my hook, 
An' find for me a shady nook. 
An' there I'd set an' fish an' dream. 
An' build air castles by that stream. 

"Sometimes I'd have to go alone 
'Count o* work 'at must be done. 
Pa never doubted but that I 
Would bring back lots o* fish to fry. 
An' when I'd start with rod an' gun 
Hie'd say, 'Bring back a mess, my son.' 

"I'd give the world, 'twere mine to give, 



"Rimes" of the Times 67 

If I again them days could live, 
An' once more shoulder rod an' gun 
With Pa an* Ma an' me, their son. 
An' hike along the creek today 
An' fish again in the same old way, 
Forgettin' cares in a blissful dream 
As we'd set together by that stream. 

"If only fairies lived today. 
As they used to live in the good old way, 
I'd wish that evei-y small boy had 
A chum just like my dear old dad. 
I'm sure the tales the prisons tell 
Would be more of heaven, less of hell, 
'Bout boyhood days they spent at home 
Before they in this world did roam. 

" Twould be indeed a happy day 
If all men lived with sons this way 
That's why I wish that all boys had 
A chum jUvSt like my dear old dad." 

— Selected. 



AN OLD FARMER'S DILEMMA 

Is there no good that I can dp. 

No sacred truths that I may teach? 

Must 1 become a useless thing 
As a mere pebble on the beach? 

On me hath God no duty laid, 
A debt to him do I not owe ? 
Then shall I sit with idle hands, 



68 "Rimes" of the Times 

While there's so much He'd have me do ? 

Whate'er, through laws which are His own, 
My God may will that I shall do, 

I trust my hands, my heart, my soul, 
May serve Him faithfully and tine. 

I can no longer till the soil, 

Nor sow the seeds nor reap the grain; 

But to some useful sphere in life, 
In other fields I may attain. 

Through grace, God, Thy light I crave. 
To guide my feet through paths unknown, 

As into future's depth I plunge, 
In darkness, save Thy light alone. 

Guide me aright, may I not stray 
From paths of duty, pure and true; 

Teach me this day, O God, I pray, 

What Thou wouldst have my hands to do. 



There's yet much good that I may do, 
If I but follow Nature's lead. 

And strive, my country well to serve. 
As I am lead to see its need. 

In every step to higher planes, 

Man's living soul must take a part. 

By giving heed to duty's call, 

With steady hands and willing heart. 

If I no more can plow nor sow, 

Nor from the fields the harvest reap, 



'Rimes" of the Times 69. 

I should obey my Savior's call, 

In his command: "My vineyard keep." 

No human soul should live for naught; 

Each should some useful purpose serve; 
Then while there's aught thati I can do, 

From duty's plane I shall not sw^erve. 

The bent of mind, the soul's desire,. 

Shall be my guide to lead the w^ay; 
While future may to me unfold 

New duties with each coming day. 

And ope to me new fertile fields. 
For sowing seeds of truth and light, 

Which may produce great harvest yields, 
And help to keep the world aright. 

And wield no more the reaper's scythe, 
To cast the golden grain — but then, 

In duty to both God and man, 
I'll strive to wield a golden pen, 

— ^John Marion Wheeler. 



"I shot an arrow into the air, 

It fell to earth, I knew not where; 

I breathed a son^ into the air. 

It fell to earth, I knew not where; 

Long, long afterward, in an oak, 
I found the arrow, still unbroke; 
And the song from beginning to end. 
I found again in the heart of a friend." 



70 "Rimes" of the Times 

WHEN FIRST I SAW THE SEAS 

I "never shall forget the day. 

When first I came to view 
The rolling, foaming, whitecapped waves 

Upon the ocean blue; 
Saw hov/ the waters heave and surge, 

And dash upon the sti'ands, 
And how the seashells from the deep 

Are cast upon the sands. 

Saw how the little mullet fish 

Leap high into the air, 
When hungry mansters 'neath the waves 

On fishie seek to fare; 
AiTd how the dnimfish in great schools, 

In shallow water feed, 
Which for the boys with spear and gun — 

Great sport they make indeed. 

And how the oysters in the bay 

Can never stir the least, 
But take their meals from briny waves. 

Which daily bring their feast; 
And how the sandcrabs on the beach. 

Can skit just as they please. 
Forward or back or either side, 

At lightning speed with ease. 

And how the sea birds hover low, 

Or take a lofty flight. 
Or riding on the crested waves, ' 

Pre-sent a pretty sight; 4 



**!Rimes" of the Times 71 

And how the stilt-birds on the reef, 

Out in the shallow bay, 
In droves stalk leisurely about, 

Seekino; erustaceous prey. 

And how the g^reat pouched pelican, 

Aloft the waves so high, 
Peers down upon the surf below, 

With wondrous piercing- eye, 
And when a shiny, finny fish, 

'Neath surface seeks to play, 
Like lead the pelican drops down, 

And puts the fish away. 

And how the huge, black poi-pouse herds, 

Oft pass just out from sliore. 
In droves of dozens, more or less, 

And sometimes many more; 
Now floatin'g' high 'bove water line, 

Then 'neath the waves they go. 
Like angus yearlings plung-ing home 

Through five-foot drifts of snow. 

And how great vessels at the warf 

Unload and take on freight; 
While whited-wmged schooners ply the bay; 

A scene most truly great — 
Now riding high, now dipping low, 

With sails unfurled abreeze — 
A picture stamped on memory's page. 

When first I saw the seas. 

— John Marion Wheeler. 



W. P. F. C, Who arc we? 
Farmers' wives — LOYAL! 



72 "Rimes" of the Times 

TO MOTHER 

"Her face is wrinkled, yet hov/ fair 

Is she, with all her snowy hair 

Abov3 it: For each wrinkle seems 

A line set there by laughter gleams, 

A bit of sunshine that was left, 

When wrinkles wore their warp and weft 

Across her aging cheek and brow, 

To tell the story they tell now." 



BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE 

If you have a gray-haired mother 

In the old home far away, 
Sit you dov/n and write the letter 

You put off from day to day; 
Don't wait until her weary steps 

Roach heaven's nearly gate. 
But show her that you think of her 

Before it is too late. 

If you have a tender message. 

Or a loving word to say, 
Don't wait till you forget it, 

But whisper it today. 
Who ki^ows what bitter memories 

May haunt you if you wait 
So make your loved ones happy 

Before it is too late. 

Tho tender word unspoken, 
The letters never sent, 



Rimes" of the Times 73 

The long- forgotten messages, 

The wealth of love unspent; 
Fcr these some hearts are breaking, 

For these some loved ones wait; 
Show them that you care for them 

Before it is too late. 

—George B. Griffith. 



WHEN MOTHER READS 

When it's most dark, then Mother reads to 

m?, 
In th^ big chair up in the nursery, 
And I go travelmg over land and sea. 

When Mother reads, I see all sort<s of things, 
The nursery floor is full of fa^v rings; 
My dolls are fairies, all with spangled 
wings. 

When Motheil reads, I see a castle stand 
Thero on the rug, all golden-walled and 

grand 
(My blocks are part of it) in fairyland. 

Whe-.i Mother reads, my boat is sailing far 
Over the world, under the evening star. 
Through spray and foam, to all the lands 
thore are. 

When Mother reads, up m the nursery chair, 
I travel far away, and yet I'm, there. 
Safe in her arms — or else I wouldn't dare. 

— Priscilla Leonard. 



74 ** Rimes" of the Times 

THE FAMILY WHEEL HOUSE 

From early mom to set of sun 

Motiher's always on the run, 

Hurryi!!^' from kitchen to cellar and hall, 

Doinjr a labor of love for alU 

She cooks the meals and sweeps the floors. 

And 'tends to all the little chores, 

Like washing- dishes, pots nnd pans, 

Dustino' chairs, and tilling- cans 

With cold-pack products; making jam, 

Presen'es and pickles; slicing ham 

Aiikl bread for lunches for hungr>' scholai's; 

Keeping accounts to save the dollars; 

Washing the clothes and ironing, too; 

Sewing so family can have something new; 

Mopping the floors and swatting flies; 

Churnnng butter and making some ]>ies. 

Cookies and doughnuts and loaves of bread; 

Straightening: rooms and makmg each bed; 

Working for all and never faiilng 

To feed the well ones and soothe the ailing. 

Now don'*t; you think she deserves praise 

For sacriflcing all of her days? 

She's spending her life and strength for you; 

You can show your love and help her thru 

Her hardest tasks, by snending some ehange 

On modern equipment that you can arrartg:e 

To buy fwm a dealer who advertises 

The best kind of labor-saving devices. 

—Selected. 



"Old King- Coal is a costly old soul." 



''Rimes" of the Times 78 

MAY WE MEET AGAIN? 

Oh, how I long: to meet ag^ain, 

Those early childhood friends of mine; 

With whom I romped and played and sang, 
And swung upon the old grapevine. 

With whom 1 learned to read and write, 

To add and multiply and spell, 
While sitting on split logs for seats. 

In th' old log schoolhouse in the dell. 

With whom I shared the joys of youth. 
When o'er the hills and dales we'd ride — 

We lads and lasses, beaus and belles, 
On prancing ponies side by side. 

But where are those dear friends today, 
For whose companionship I pine, 

WHiilo oycs grow dim and hairs turn gray, 
As I pass down life's steep decline? 

To Past and west, to north ana south, 

They've gone from me in days passed by, 

Many of whom I'll meet no more. 

For 'neath the churchyard green they lie. 

To my old friends, where'er you be. 
If you perchance these verses read, 

May they our friendship ties renew 
And make of us true friends indeed. 

How I would like to clasip your hand, 



76 "Rimes" of the Times 

And talk of these, our childish plays; 
And in our minds be younp- ag'ain, 
And happy as in childhood ilays. 

— John Marion Wheeler. 



AVIIEN MA IMAKES TUMPKIN PIE 

There's a spicy odor floatinir, 

Out upon the mornintr air. 
Of a lot of uood thinjis baking"; 

You can smell it everywhere. 
And it makes us all feel huna-i-y, 

'Cause this is the reason why, 
We know Ma is awful busy — 

And she's makino- pumpkin pie. 

Oh. the pumpkin's! Ri.u' fat fellows. 

We have stored them in the barn, 
Covered up with hay so careful, 

So the frost can do no harm. 
Wh^n we smell that spicy odor. 

To be extra jrood we try. 
For we k-now the best one always 

Gets the bijrgest hunk of pie. 

When it comes upon the table, 

'Tis a .iiTanil siti'ht to behold. 
With its crust so crisp and tender. 

And it's top of yellow ijold; 
As Ma cuts it there is silence, 

Then we pass our plates — oh. myf 
Each of us is awful busy 

Eatin.u- up that pumpkin pie. 



Rimes" of the Times 77 

S-^me folks may prefer the apple, 

Others say the mince is best, 
Bnt the kin.e; of pies where'er you go, 

In north, south, east of west, 
Is the o-lorions yellow pumpkin pie; 

The prize it always takes — 
Thnt is, if it is like the ones 

My mother always makes. 

Florence Borner, North Dakota. 



"WHAT HA* YE DONE?" 

And thev cam'^ to, the <2:ate within the w^all, 

w^here Peter holds the keys, 
"StarAd up, stand up. now Tomlison, and 

auF-wcr loud and hig-h, 
The good that ye did for the sake of men in 

little earth so lone!" 
And the naked soul of Tomlison grew white 

ar. a rain -washed bone. 
"This I have rdad in, a book," he said, "and 

that was told to me, 
A.nd this I thought that another man 

thought of a prince in Muscovy." 
And Peter twirled the jangling keys in 

weariness and wrath, 
"Ye have read, ye have heard, ye have 

though," he said, "and the tale is yet 

to run; 
By the worth of the body that once ye had, 

give answer — what ha' ye done?" 
— Rudyard Kipling. 



78 'Rimes" of the Times 

EVERY MAN 

Every man's home is the best old home. 

And every man's wife the sweetest; 
Every man's child is the best little child, 

The best behaved and the neatest. 
Every man's baby is better than- all 

The babies that ever were bom — 
And just so it's babies and wives an dhomes, 

Why, let 'em blow their hom! 

Every man's wife makes the finest preserves, 

And every man's wife bakes bread 
That; beats all the bread that ever was made 

From Hatteras to Stony Head. 
Every man's home is the place to see 

The finest housekeeping on earth — 
And just so it's bread and preserves and home, 

Let 'em keep on with their mirth! 

When every man thinks that his own home's best, 

And his own wife's sweetest, why then 
We'll swing: back into the golden dream 

Of heaven on earth ag*ain. 
And isn't it beautifu, fine and sweet, 

That faith of a man in his child 
And his wife and his home r.nd his simple life, 

That he boasts of undefiled! 

V/hen every man's home is the sweetest place 

On earth for a man to be; 
When every man's wife is the sweetest wife 

In all the world to see; 



' ' Rini-33 ' ' of the Times 79 

When every man's child is the dearest child 

That ever drew breath — ah, then, 
Vv^o shall have better children and women and homw 

And a great deal better men! 

— Selected. 



WHEN THE HE-HAW CROWS 

Now, since a man in tliis end of town 
Became the owner of a he-haw brown, 
There's a wide awake bunch on Poverty row^ 
They can't sleep when they hear it crow. 

Now, when for sleep, they settle down, 
And hope that dreamland their troubles will dro\vn, 
And there's no mosquitoes to bite their nose, 
They're all "blocked up/' for the he-haw crows. 

At midnight's hour when the pests of to\^m, 
Practicing horn, and howling lioun*, 
Havo settled down and begin to doze. 
Then suddenly the he-haw crows. 

When all is still at neighbors aroun', 
Phoniograph and piano lids down. 
All noisy brats gone to repose, 
Like peals of thunder, the he-haw crows. 

It answers to all noise and sound. 
In" town or country for miles around. 
When the morning freight here, goes, 
It whistles, and the he-haw crows. 

The people in this part of town 

Can smile no more — they wear a frown — 



go ''Himes" of the Times 

The cause of this, as each one knows, 
Tliey cannot sleep when the he-haw crows. 

li', perchance, they are sleeping soiin', 
And dream the house is falling- down, 
Jump out of bed and grab their clothes, 
And 'wako to the fact, the he-haw crows. 

Wo dream the Judgment Day is here. 
And hear the last Great Trumpet near. 
Thai; oceans of water, all up hill flows — 
Wc! were snooziii'g, and the he-haw crows. 

Flat of our back, pinned to the ground, 

On track, train ready the bend to round; 

This is the last of a life of woes — ■ 

All's over, train whistles — the he-haw crows. 

Nights are hideous in this part of town, 
Since v/e've been tormented by the he-haw brown, 
Sleeplessness and blare, caps climax of woes, 
In still hours, the dodgasted he-haw crows. 

Scores of rattle-traps, miriad howling houn', 
Could not begin it's music to drown, 
In all m,y life of troubles and v/oes, 
The greatest is this — the he-haw crows. 

— J. R. Patterson. 



I pm a jolly farmer, 
Toiler blithe you see. 

Close to the heart of nature; 
No life is half so free." 
— Sophie Immele, age 11. 



* ' Rimes ' " of the Times 81 

THE GOSSIP VS. THE BOOSTER 

Of all the evils. flesh is heir to, 
The noisy gossip is worst to swear to — 
With scandal or story of malice or wrong, 
They keep the tale going all the year long; 
Never Quite happy unless their words wound, 
Never quite happy unless truth is found, 
li you knov/ such a party, just drop me a line, 
That I can avoid them — save wasting my time, 
P^'or time it ic fleetmg, life's only a span — 
To shoifc tot be greeting with gossiping clan. 
In traveling life's pathway you ahvays will and, 
Thoso who are successful; they are the kind, 
To all they are courteous and loyal to friends; 
They never will use them in Raining their ends. 
I love a good neighbor with whom to advise. 
And being a Booster, he will not criticize; 
But always is v/illing to push with his might, 
All worthy endeavors to better his plight. 
He's honest and punctual in meeting his dates; 
In fact, he's not lacking in any good traits. 
All hail to the Booster — he's a man of great worth — 
My Advice to the gossip: Just get off the earth. 
— John L. Munch, Secretary Farm Club, Cuba, Mo. 



"Concern yourself with but today; 
Woo it, and teach it to obey 
Your will and wish. Since time began 
Today has been the friend of man, 
But in his blindness and his sorrow 
He looks to yesterday and tomorrow. 



82 "Rimes'' of the Times 

MY HUSBAND 

They say he is a big* rough man 

With neither brains nor money; 
And how I ever married him, 

To thijm seems strang-e and funny. 
For I delight in all thing-s fine — 

Like music, books and flowers; 
And midst the world's finest art 

Have spent some happy hours. 

But they can't see this man like me, 

For I can look inside 
And see a heart — a big, soft heart — ■ 

Where tenderness abides; 
And I can see tliat none but me 

Have placed within that shrine, 
And knov.', though crude and some- 
times rude. 

That heart is wholly mine. 

I know his faults and virtues, too, 

But take them altogether, 
Just as I do the changing wind 

And dark or sunny weather. 
For I have learned to cull the wheat 

And let the cockle lay 
Until the Reaper's gentle hand 

Shall soothe it all away. 

— Selected. 



"Roses are red, living is high, 
Sugar is shoii; and so am l. 



"liimes'* of the Times S3 

KEEP ON KEEPIN' ON 

If the day looks kinder g-loomy, 

And your chances kinder slim, 
If the situation's puzzling, 

And the prospect's awful grim, 
And perplexities keep passin'. 

Till all hope is nearly gone, 
-Just bristle up ai.d grit your teeth, 

And keep on keepin* on. 

— Credit Lost. 



HOW WE WILL WIN 

It ain't the guns or armament, 

Nor bonds that they can pay. 
But the close co-operation 

That makes them win the day. 
It ain't the individual, 

Nor army as a whole. 
But the everlasting teamwork 

Of every boomin' soul. 

— Rudyard Kipling. 



LITTLE THINGS 

The little commm' things of life — ' 
A kindly word, a little trust, 

A friendly stnile amid the strife 
That cinishes souls into dust. 

A flov/er for some tired eyes, 
Or music for a wean^ heart — 

'Must little things" — not any size — 
But ah, the sweetness they impart! 
—Edith McKay. 



84 ' ' Rimes ' ' of the Times 

HOW WE TAKE IT 

It matters not if your life has been far 

FiQm what you had planned to make it; 
If you have had tidal waves of woe, 

'Tis only, ''How do youl take it?" 
We can grow faint and weary, worn and sad 

With the tide of reverses Old Time brings, 
Or by standing firm with a resolute heart, 

With each one rise to better things. 
Let us rail not at Fate, Brother Man, 

Life is much what we make it; 
And it matters not if we meet good or ill, 

Tis only, *'How do we take it?" 

"When you have a thought that's cheery, 

Pass it on. 
It will surely aid the weary. 

Pass it on. 
Give it freely — do not keep it; 
Fill your measure full, then heap it; 
Later you will surely reap it; 

Past it on. 



THE SWEETEST GIRL 

God thought to give the greatest gift, 

In His almighty power 
To earth, and, deeply wondering 

What it should be, one hour 
In purest joy and love of heart — 

Outweighting every other — 
He m.oved the gates of heaven apart, 

And gave to earth — a Mother. 

— Pure Words. 



"Rimes" of the Times 85 

There is a slogan royal 

That I would like to teach; 
It has few words: Stand loyal; 

A lid practice what you preach! 

Cooperate and educate 

If winners we would be; 
ExDerience and many pence 

'Twill take to make us free. 

"If we work a little longer 

And often get together. 
We will soon grow stronger, 

Regardless of the weather." 

We must "work like a Turk" and not shirk 

Onr duty that is plain; 
And all fight with our might for the right, 

If the victory we would gain. 

My friend, farewell, here let me tell 
You how to make the farm pay: 

Be Loyal, man! to our good clan, 
And BOOST for the M. F. A. 

"Farm Club Songs." 

1 have a young friend who'll stay till the end, 
No matter how hard the day's work: 

For he is one lad who loves his old dad, 
And no task will this young man shirk. 

Now a tub full of grub for the Club 

Is a nice thing any day; 
But' take heed or your greed will stampede 

Our cause ere it's on its way. 



S 5 ' ' B imss " of the Tim^s 

It is the love of coin, I trove, 

That causes so much sorrow; 
If sve could know down here below 

What's coming on the morrow, 
I'm sure that we could always be 

Prepared to do our duty 
Ab through this life of toil and strife 

We go. 

'Mid nature's beauty, 
The soil I till; its joys doth fill 

My heart to overflowing; 
The night bird's wail, the whistling quail, 

The waving corn a-growing; 
While o'er and o'er, out near the door, 

The mocking bird is ringing 
Out his love song; (there's nothing wrong 

With that old bird's sweet singing.) 
The cooling breeze among the trees; 

For this, life is worth living. 
Now, I would guess that happiness 

Is best received by giving. 

-B. H. P. 



SAFETY FIRST 

"There was a man/ who fancied 

By driving good and fast, 

He could get his car across the track 

Before the train came past. 

He would miss the engine by an inch. 

And make the tram crew sore; 

There was a man who fancied this. 

But — there isn't any more." 



Kimes" of the Tim^s 87 

SxICK. OS GST SXT7CK! 

My friends, I've just a word to say 

About this "chicken fight;" 
We cannot win the fight today, 

In this I know I'm right, 
Unless you farmers all get "hep," 

And join our.loyal band; 
Fill up with pep and all keep step; 

Let's win throughout the land. 

Stick, or get stuck! 

And robbed of all you make; 
Stand by each other, 

No dirty money fake. 
Each one be Loyal, 

I'm sure 'twill change your luck; 
If we'd win the fight for truth and right, 

Stick, or get stuck! 

— B. H. P. 



"Think not of yesterday, nor trouble borrow 
On what may be in store you you tomorrow, 
But} let today be your incessant care — 
The past is past, tomorrow's in the air. 
Who g-ives today the best that in him lies 
Will find the road that leads to clelarer 
skies," 



"If none would hear, 

A lie would lack a handle; 
It needs both tong:ue and ear 

To make a scandal." 



M. F. A., Lead the way, 
Here to stay; FARM CLUBS! 



CONTENTS 

PART ONE 

A Letter, 30; A Little Girl, 31; Educated, 24; 
Farmer Jones, 8; Finis, 36; Go. To; Rich Men, 10; 
Greed, 0; Hop To It, 23; Melon-Oolic, 33; More 
Pep, 21); Old Bill Jon^s, 25; Poison Bait, It); 
''Rimes" and Jingles, 35; Rott, 36; The Conven- 
tion, 12; The Dab, 29; The Farm Club Paper, 34; 
The Jolly Life of the Farmer's Wife, 17; The 
Knocker, 31; The Liar, 27; The Poison Squad, 21; 
The Slacker, 7; The Story Grows, 5; The Wed- 
ding, 14. 

PART TWO 

A Penny Man, 38; A Regular Feller, 64 ; "Bill," 
of Rumpus Gap, 47; Boosters, Every One, 52 ; Busi- 
ness on the Farm, 58; Cuno Has the Dope, 49; 
Glendale Farm Club, 53; Is This You? 56; It'-. 
You, 62; Loyalty to tre Club, 51; Old Tomm.y 
Toodles, 37; The Farm Club Band, 40; That Farm 
Club Fight, 42; The Master Wheel. 44; The M. F, 
A., 63; Wheat Gambler's Fate, 61; When tlie 
Farmers Organize, 41. 

PART THREE 

An Arrow and a Song, 69; An Old Farmer's 
Dilemma, 67; Before It Is Too Late, 72; Chums, 
65; Every Man, 78; How We Take It, 84; How 
We Will Win, 83; Keep On Keepin' On, 83; Little 
Thmgs, 83; May We Meet Again, 75; My Hus- 
band, 82; The Family Wheel Horse, 74; The Gos- 
sip vs. the Booster, 81; Tre Sweetest Girl, 84; To 
Mother, 72; When First I Saw the Seas, 70; W^at 
Ha' Ye Done? 77; When Mn Makes Pumpkin Pie, 
76; When Mother Reads, 73; V/hen the He-Haw 
Crows, 79. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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